Coming Home

Looking back, I’m not exactly sure when things progressed from innocent hugging to mortal sin, but all of a sudden I realized that my mom’s tongue was in my mouth and that I was kissing her back passionately. She tasted of vodka and tears, and I found myself wondering if this could really be happening or if I was just dreaming it all. I pressed my mouth against hers hard, our tongues continuing to wrestle in our forbidden kiss. Dream or not, I knew I didn’t want it to end.

Hell, I’d been fantasizing about my mom for years now–ever since my senior year of high school, shortly after my eighteenth birthday. In fact, one of my fondest sexual memories was of catching her sunbathing in a tiny string bikini one Saturday afternoon when she thought I wasn’t home. I must’ve stood there staring through the window for ten minutes or more, cock raging hard, unable to make myself look away. From that day on, I couldn’t look at her ass and not get hard. Of course, it wasn’t just her ass–though I must say, even to this day, that her ass is a thing of beauty–but the rest of her body as well. Her tits aren’t big, 34B, but they are extremely perky and fit well on her trim, athletic body. And her looks… well, I wouldn’t say she could be a model, but she is definitely in the milf category. Nice features, long shiny, dark hair, sparkling eyes and an engaging smile.

Yeah, my mom was hot, and once I became aware of that fact there was no way to become unaware of it. What started as a first-time hard-on from seeing her in a sexy bikini, soon progressed into a fulltime obsession. My teenage hormones were out of control, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop myself from admiring my mom’s body. My admiration quickly blossomed into fantasy, and inevitably I soon found myself jerking off to thoughts of her. At first it was just images I had stored in my head — her ass in that bikini, glimpses down her shirt, her bending over — but that too evolved. I soon began picturing us hugging and kissing, touching each other’s bodies, and then more and more.

I should point out that my mom was not like any of my other friends’ moms. My mom was still young, still with what was going on in the world. Because of her good looks, she had been somewhat of a wild child, drinking and partying at an early age. Which resulted in her being pregnant with me at an early age, she had me when she was only nineteen. I never met my father, don’t even have one listed on my birth certificate, but I never really felt that I was lacking in any way. Growing up, Mom got married twice (I think mostly to try and provide that father figure she felt I needed), but neither lasted very long, the second ending when I was twelve years old. From then on it was just the two of us.

Which was fine by me. We lived together in a two bedroom apartment, and she worked full time in order to support us, so I was afforded a lot of free time without supervision and was often home by myself. That was the case one day when I arrived home from school a couple weeks after the bikini incident. Like usual she was still at work and wouldn’t be home for at least a couple hours. I went into the bathroom to take a piss and happened to notice some clothes on the floor next to the hamper. I bent down and picked them up, and was ready to deposit them into the hamper when I realized that I was holding a pair of my mom’s sexy, lacy panties. I’m not sure why, but just looking at them sent a tingle throughout my body, and before I knew it, I had raised them to my face. As I sniffed their aroma, I found myself welcomed into a whole new world of sexual bliss — the incredible, wonderful smell of pussy.

The smell was incredible, and instantly I found myself fully aroused. I ran the silky fabric across my face, inhaling deeply over and over, pulling her scent deep into my nostrils. I had never encountered anything like this before, and was immediately lost in the sensation. Without ever making a conscious decision, I found myself with my pants down and jerking off furiously, all the while sniffing deeply of my mother’s stained panties. Almost immediately I came like a freight-train, spraying all over the bathroom wall.

From then on, almost everyday when I came home from school, I would search through the clothes hamper until I found her panties she’d worn the previous day. Then I’d rub them across my face, centering the soiled cotton crotch directly against my nose, and inhale her womanly scent while jerking my cock. I’d imagine she was standing in front of me, and it really was her pussy (or ass as oftentimes as not) that I had my face buried in. Then I’d suck the dirty fabric into my mouth, trying to taste her, imagining in vain that it was her I was licking instead. In no time at all, I would be shooting come all over, my fantasy fulfilled for the day.

Afterward, I’d clean up and return the panties to where I’d found them, feeling guilty about jacking off to thoughts of my mom and telling myself that this was the last time, but then the next day I’d come home from school and eagerly do it all over again. Occasionally, I was rewarded with an overly odiferous pair, and these I’d sometimes take to my room and hide until I went to bed that night. Then I’d retrieve them and masturbate a couple of times while inhaling their smelliness and fantasizing about what I’d like to do to my mom.

This–me fantasizing about, and jerking off to, my mother’s underwear–continued on rampantly for the rest of that school-year and summer. Then I went off to college and, for the most part, forgot about my mom’s hot, sexy body and the many things I wanted to do to it. Every once in a while though, I would wake up with a huge erection and the last images of her and I locked in some kind of dirty, nasty sex still in my mind. These dreams seemed somehow more vivid and real than any other erotic dreams I had, and sometimes even brought me to orgasm. Still, even these faded after a couple years, and I went on with normal life, convinced that it had just been a phase and that I wasn’t really a pervert.

Now, four years later, all those many incestuous thoughts and dreams were washing over me once again like a tidal wave. Only this time… well, this time maybe there was something I could do about it. It seems I really was a pervert after all.

 

————–

 

I had decided to come home for Christmas. It wasn’t the first time I’d been back since leaving for college, but it was the first in a couple of years. Mom knew I was coming and picked me up at the airport. After dropping my bags off (she still lived in the same apartment and still kept a room for me, although it was now cluttered with a bunch of her stuff), she announced that she was taking me out for dinner.

We had a nice dinner, splitting a bottle of wine (which she drank most of, wine not being my thing), and caught up on things. After dinner, we stopped at the local bar and decided to have a couple drinks before returning home. I had drank with my mom a few times that final summer before college — like I said, she was still young and remembered how things were when you were a teenager. She knew what college life was going to be like and was okay with me drinking as long as I was safe and responsible. That being said, I’d never really drank while around her. A couple beers at most. But now things were different, now I was completely legal and had been doing my share of partying over the past few years.

So we had a couple of drinks and a shot to celebrate (belatedly) my 21^st birthday, and then a couple more drinks and then another shot, all the while just talking about what’s new. All of a sudden, I realized that I was getting pretty drunk and that I didn’t want to get too drunk in front of Mom. Then looking at her, I saw that I needn’t have worried–she was already quite drunker than I. It seems college does build up one’s tolerance.

“Alright,” I told her, “I think it’s time for us to get going.” I paid our bar tab, and decided that we’d better not drive. Luckily, our apartment was only a few blocks away, and walked the short distance without incident.

We probably should have just called it a night right then, but since we were already pretty tipsy, we decided to have another. Mom poured us a couple of vodka and Sprites, and we plopped down on the couch and continued to talk. I don’t recall exactly how we got around to it (and it’s not really important anyway), but ultimately Mom started crying and telling me how much she loved me, and how sorry she was that I didn’t have a father growing up and such. So I hugged her and told her how much I loved her too, and how I didn’t blame her or anything like that.

So there we sat, holding each other, telling each other how much we loved one another, both apologizing for nothing. Each ‘I love you’ was followed by a kiss, and each kiss was held just a little bit longer than the last, and like I said, I’m not sure who actually made the first move (although I really do believe it was her) but suddenly we were making out instead of just kissing.

As this realization dawned on me, it took all of about two seconds for my cock to pop to attention and all of my old fantasies to come rushing back into my head. I knew that this was wrong, and that I was drunk and she drunker, but I had no intention of stopping it now that it had started. In fact, I was sure that this would be the only chance to ever make my dreams become a reality, and I decided to do everything I could to see it through.

We were still kissing, our tongues dancing about each other’s mouth, and I had my arms wrapped tight around her. Now, I began to slowly–very slowly–slide my hands down her back towards that perfect ass. Inch by inch, working towards my goal. Trying hard not to make my intent obvious. As I moved, I wondered if she was consciously aware of what I was up to and wanted me to keep going, or if she was completely oblivious in her drunkenness. Either way though she did nothing to stop me and I kept going little by little, moving ever lower.

I was excited and frightened at the same time. Excited to finally touch, to finally feel and caress the ass that I had lusted after for years. Frightened that my touch could snap her out of whatever zone she was in and put a quick end to this, not to mention the awkwardness that would result. But in the end, lust won out and my hands continued their descent.

And then, just like that, I was there. I was holding my mom’s perfect, gorgeous ass in my hands! I cupped it softly, reverently, still afraid that this was going to end at any second. But it didn’t. Not only did she not pull away, but she moaned into my mouth, her tongue probing even deeper, and pressed herself closer to me.

Her breasts were now smashed between us, and I was quite aware of the hardness of her nipples against my chest. Taking that for a good sign, I gave her ass a good firm squeeze. She moaned again, throaty, sexy, and bit down not-so-gently on my lip. The pain felt good.

I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. This was fucking amazing! I had my mom’s perfect, tight ass in my hands, her tongue in my mouth, and her tits pressed tight up against me. What more could a guy ask for? This was a dream come true. I didn’t want it to ever end.

But at the same time, I wasn’t content with just this. I did want more. So much more. There were so many things that I had thought of over the years — so many dirty, naughty scenarios that I had jerked off to time and time again. So many visions, and dreams, and forbidden fantasies. That’s what I wanted. I wanted to make them all come true.

As if reading my mind, my mom slid one hand from around my neck, slowly down my side and across my thigh, finally managing to slip it between us so that it was pressed firmly against the bulge in my pants. Once again, I couldn’t believe it. She was not only letting me touch her, she was touching me back. Not just touching me, shit, she was cupping my cock! This was beyond amazing — this was shit I’d dreamed about for years. This was fantasy become reality!

My stunned, drunken brain was on overload, shocked by this turn of events, unable to grasp the full ramifications of what was happening. My cock, however, was not. Even through my jeans, the touch of my mom’s hand was electric, and it jumped in response. Already hard, but uncomfortably trapped pointing off to the left in the tight confines of my jeans, my cock stiffened even further, until it was throbbing almost painfully, trying its damnedest to break free.

“Oh my,” Mom murmured, finally breaking our kiss, her eyelids fluttering open for the first time since it’d began.

Our eyes met.

Our bodies paused.

This was it. This was the make or break point. What I’d been afraid of. It had been easy to get lost in the moment, to let ourselves get slightly carried away by the rush of emotions and allow our inhibitions to float away on the wings of alcohol.

Easy with our eyes closed that is, lost in another world. Now we were looking at one another. Staring into each other’s eyes. Now there was no hiding, no pretending it wasn’t real. Whatever happened after this, if anything, would be the result of a conscious decision on our part. Sure, a drunk, alcohol-influenced decision, but a conscious decision nonetheless.

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, how beautiful she was. I wanted to grab her firmly, and rip off her clothes, and tell her how much I wanted her. I wanted to squeeze that ass, and push my tongue back in her mouth, and tell her just how long I’ve longed to do just that.

But I did none of that. She was the parent and I was the child. Sure, I was a man now. A full-grown man out on my own. An adult. But she was my mother, and in this, like everything else, I submitted to her.

So I just stared at her. And waited.

Her eyes were so green. Yet they were shifting around, unsteady, as if they were floating in the socket, the pupils large and slightly dilated. I could tell that she was quite intoxicated, but then again, so was I. And it seemed to me that beneath that glazed look, deep down inside, there lurked something deeper. A sparkle. A glint of lust. Of deep, dark yearning.

Or so I told myself.

It seemed like an eternity that we stared into each other’s eyes. Weighing. Measuring. Coming to terms with the implications of what we were about to do. Our bodies and souls connecting on an inter-dimensional level.

In truth, it was seconds. Probably less than that. And then her tongue was once again probing my mouth, and her hands were working frantically to undo the front of my jeans. Her tongue was more forceful now. It swirled about my own, traced my teeth and gums, probed its way deep into my mouth. Searching, rooting, demanding that I give myself up to its exploration.

And I did. Heedlessly. I was hers to do with as she pleased, and I could only hope that she pleased to do a lot. My tongue twined with hers, my hands searched out and clung possessively to her ass, and I gave myself over to her desire.

A desire that matched mine, if not exceeded it. She sucked and slurped at my tongue, kissing me not just passionately but needfully, animalistically, her body pressing tight against mine, her breasts mashed pleasantly between us. Lewd moans were sounding deep in her throat, and I found myself entranced by the unexpected sounds. I had never had anyone kiss me so fervidly and with so much longing. That this was my mother groaning and mewling into my mouth made it that much more remarkable. Beyond description really.

Meanwhile, her hands were tearing recklessly at my zipper, all nimbleness lost in their urgency. After a short, fitful struggle, she finally managed to get it unzipped and hastily tugged my jeans part way down my hips–not bothering to go any farther than necessary to free my cock of its constrictive confines.

Immediately, frantically, she plunged her questing hand into the opening of my boxers, and after a little finagling, managed to extract my cock from its prison. As it sprang free, she captured it in her soft, delicate hand and broke our kiss with a gasp. “Oh god,” she breathed, staring me in the eye, “So nice and big. My baby’s all grown up, isn’t he?”

I could feel the blood rushing to my face and was sure I was blushing furiously, but despite my embarrassment (I mean, really, who ever expects to hear something like that from their own mother?), I felt a strong surge of pride as well. My mom was holding my cock in her hand–and she was impressed. It wasn’t like she was some inexperienced college girl either, she was a grown woman. One that had been around the block a time or two.

She gripped me firmly, her hand circling my shaft, her palm warm and moist. For a long moment she did nothing else, just held me like that. Like she was testing it out, seeing what she thought of it, making sure that it was the right fit. Then, (apparently I passed inspection) she began to slowly stroke me up and down.

Her fingers felt magical, and all I could do was moan lightly as she continued fondling me. She watched me as she did this, her eyes locked to mine, savoring the reactions that her gentle touch was causing. I noticed that she was breathing heavily, nearly panting in her desire, and realized for the first time, that maybe she wanted this to happen as much as I did.

Her nimble fingers kept working me over, finding all of my pleasure points, stroking me to even greater hardness if that was possible. I continued to stare into her eyes, moaning uncontrollably, my mind almost unable to cope with what was happening. There was no way that I was getting a hand job from my mom right here in her living room.

Except that I was! The dream too impossible to come true…

… was coming true!

“Do you like that?” she whispered, her hand sliding up my shaft to the tip, smearing the pre-cum copiously leaking from there all around her palm, and then sliding it back down, now slick and slippery. I nodded dumbly, still not trusting myself to speak. Still thinking that this might be a dream and any wrong move could cause it to burst apart like a pin to a bubble. If it were to end now–when I was this close to my lifelong dream–I think I’d go insane.

My mom didn’t seem to be concerned about my lack of speech though. She grinned at me naughtily (naughtily? my mom? I didn’t even know she could do that) and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “You should love this then,” she murmured, her breath against my skin causing me to shiver in delight. Then she started to slowly sink downward.

“No!” I called out, wondering even as the word left my mouth what in the world would possess me to say such a stupid thing. At the same time, I reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, preventing her from falling to her knees.

She was looking at me curiously, somewhat shocked even, as I guided her fully back to her feet, and I can’t say as I blamed her. She had been just about ready to drop to her knees and give me what any man wants more than anything else in the world… and I had stopped her. One of the things that I had dreamed of almost nightly for more years than I cared to remember, and I’d had the stupidity to stop it before it started.

Honestly, I myself was shocked by my behavior as well. The first word I had said to her since this whole thing had started, and it was ‘no’. In response to a blow-job. I must be losing my freaking mind. Seriously– if I had just fucked this up…

“Not yet,” I amended softly, trying to ease her mind that she had done something wrong. Trying hard not to ruin the atmosphere that had been so carefully set. My voice sounded calmer and cooler than I really was as I leaned in close to her ear. “Ladies first,” I told her, grabbing hold of her shirt and pulling it gently up over her head.

You see, it wasn’t that I didn’t want a blow-job from my mother. I wanted one more than could possibly be imagined. More than anyone anywhere had ever wanted a blow-job in the entire history of the world. Of the universe. Of creation. More than words could ever dare to hope to describe…

But… If she had dropped down and taken me in her mouth right then, as worked up as I was, as so incredibly turned on as I was, I wouldn’t have been able to last more than a couple of seconds. At best. I mean, I had been near to blowing in her hand moments before. There was no way that I could have lasted as long as I would’ve liked. As long as I needed to — to really appreciate it, to form the memories that would stay with me the rest of my life.

There was no telling if another opportunity like this would ever present itself again. This could be my one and only chance to fulfill my dreams. My one shot at my fantasy. If I blew it (literally) after just a couple seconds, I would curse myself forever for not having had made it last longer. And there were so many things that I still wanted to do to her…

Her head popped clear of her shirt and I continued lifting it upward, forcing her long, slender arms up over her head as I worked to pull them free as well. Stretched as she was, I had a perfect view of her sleek, supple body, and I let my eyes rove over it hungrily, soaking it all in. Soaking her in.

It had been a couple years since I’d been home, and a couple years more even since I’d seen her in anything as revealing as a bathing suit. (You don’t really spend a lot of time hanging out with your mom after you can drive). So, now, having her here in front of me in just a bra and a pair of jeans was not just an amazing sight, but a welcome reminder of what I’d been missing. Despite those nearly four years that had passed, and having to live up to my insanely lofty expectations (due undoubtedly to having fantasized about her for so long), I was happy to see that she looked as remarkable as ever.

I’d already checked out her ass a number of times during the course of the night, and had glimpsed a flash or two of cleavage, but that was with clothes on. I was well aware that the proper clothes, done right, could be used to make a woman look better than she really did. Fortunately, in this case, the clothes were mere window dressing for what lay beneath.

She was every bit as stunning as I remembered.

Her slender waist pinched in at the hips, and it was plain to see that she hadn’t gained any weight during my time away. If anything, she might have lost some. Her belly was taut and tight, the skin smooth and toned and I wondered briefly if she was working out now. She seemed somehow firmer, leaner than I recalled. But that thought quickly faded as my eyes travelled eagerly onward and upward. Her bra was light-green and lacy, not one of those ridiculous padded things that women seem to think they need, and complimented rather than enhanced the natural pertness of her breasts. Also, happily, it did nothing to disguise how hard her obviously-erect nipples were. Perfect, little round bullets staring right back at me, practically begging for my attention. My mouth grew dry and my pulse quickened.

I tossed her shirt carelessly aside, eager to continue, and she let her arms drop and form a loose circle around my neck. Her eyes danced merrily, albeit wobbly, and she showed no signs of being the least bit disturbed at now standing shirtless in front of me. I admired the sweet curve of her breasts again, the cute little indent of her belly-button.

I was very conscious of the next move, but emboldened by the alcohol and the complete lack of any hesitancy on her part so far, I felt that it was important to push on. To not let a lull develop. I didn’t want to push too fast — wanting to take my time and appreciate and savor her body in all of its minuteness — but neither did I want to move too slow. I didn’t want the urgency and fire that was racing through us, pushing us into this most forbidden of trysts, to dampen and fade. I didn’t want the moment to unravel.

I brought my hands lightly to her waist, loving the feel of her smooth skin against my fingertips, and then began to slowly slide them upward. Not too slowly. But not too eager either. I brushed across her ribs–“ooh, that tickles,” she murmured–and then cautiously slid them around to her back and up to the firm skin beneath her shoulder blades. I gently pulled her forward, easing my arms around her, while my hands methodically homed in on where her bra hooked together.

Her hands were running lightly through my hair, and she made no move to stop me as I located the clasp and went to work on it. Luckily, it wasn’t one of those monstrosities that took an instruction manual and the better part of an hour to figure out. Instead, it only had two small hooks, and I had it undone in a matter of seconds.

As it sprang apart, my mom favored me with another compliment and I felt my confidence beginning to rise. “Mm, very smooth,” she whispered, her tongue flicking out to touch my ear, her hands gripping my hair a little more firmly. I felt a sudden surge of pride run through me, along with the pleasant tingle caused by her tongue, and it occurred to me that maybe college had taught me something useful after all.

Emboldened, I let my hands glide effortlessly up the smooth ridges of her shoulder-blades to the rounded curves of her shoulders themselves. This pulled her even closer to me, the hardened tips of her breasts now grazing against my chest, and I took a moment to inhale deeply of her hair where it tumbled off from her neck. It smelled of perfume, smoke from the bar, and just enough sweat to make it enticing.

Yet, as much as I enjoyed that position, I didn’t hold it for long. I had more important things to get to. Hooking my pinkies around the straps of her bra, I recommenced my hands’ passage over her shoulders, and slid them tenderly onto the smooth slopes of her upper arms.

It was here that I had to exert a little bit of force — just a touch — to show her what I wanted, and a moment later, she lowered her arms from around my neck. As they fell, I guided them slowly downward, toward her sides, pulling the bra along behind. Finally, with both of our arms hanging almost straight down, I released the trailing straps, and the bra slid the rest of the way off her arms and dropped to the floor with barely a sound.

My mother was now standing completely, utterly topless directly in front of me, and despite the fact that we were standing too close together for me to see anything yet, the simple knowledge that I was about to was enough to set my heart aflutter. This was it. It was actually going to happen. I was finally about to see that which I had strived so hard and so long for. Barely able to breathe, I eased a step back and gazed down for the first time at my mother’s half-nakedness.

I can’t even begin to hope to describe how wonderfully amazing and incredibly perfect they were! Perfect in every sense of the word. At least to my eyes. They jutted from her chest stunningly. Two twin little mountains. No sag, none of that flopping over onto the skin below, just two pert and perky handfuls of joy. Capped by the cutest, tightest, most mouth-watering little pink nipples ever created by God.

Nipples that I had dreamed of for so long. That I had tried so hard and so diligently to catch sight of for years. That I had fantasized about kissing, and licking, and rubbing my face against since I couldn’t even remember when. Nipples that I wanted so badly to suck on right now, it was like a painful, primal need.

And so that’s what I did. I leaned forward and licked lightly at her distended nipple. Her perfect, pink, tantalizing little nipple.

As I did so, I realized that I was holding my breath. That I was still unsure if this was going to be the act that finally broke the trance, that brought reality crashing back in. Was this going to be the one and only taste of my mom that I ever got?

She gasped, and I half-expected to be shoved forcefully away. Or maybe slapped. But instead, her hands went back into my hair and pulled my face roughly closer. Her already-hard nipple tightened up even more under the wet caress of my tongue, and she hissed out a long, sibilant “yessss!”

Emboldened, I let myself be drawn in tight against her bosom and sucked that sweet little nub into my mouth, running my tongue around it in long, slow swirls. She reacted even more enthusiastically, her fists tightening up in my hair, her hiss turning into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Mmmmm, yeah… that’s it baby. That’s it… suck mommy’s titties.”

Well, I’ll tell you, I never thought to hear those words come out of my mother’s mouth. But when they did, it was like throwing gasoline on my already burning fire. My lust level skyrocketed up to an even higher level, and my tongue renewed its vigorous assault on her turgid nipple. Now there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that she was into this as much as me. I no longer had to worry about pushing the boundary too far; I could push forward with impunity and truly enjoy myself.

Still suckling at her nipple like a thirsty newborn, I now slid my hands up to assist in the attack. I cupped those magnificent breasts gently in my hands, hefting them lightly, getting a feel for their size and weight. Relishing in my first ever feel of my mother’s forbidden fruits. They were soft, yet firm, and seemed to fit perfectly in my hands. Like they were meant to be there.

My fingers roamed their surface, squeezing, caressing, taking note of every little, tiny detail. Storing it in my mind for future reference. I moved my mouth from one breast to the other, kissing and licking across the luscious valley in between. Tasting her sweat and perfume. Bathing in her aroma.

Her nipples were diamonds in my mouth. Hard, smooth, little gems that elicited moans of approval every time I flicked them with my tongue. I licked, sucked, bit, nibbled, slurped and slobbered over those mouthwatering, little nubs. All while she purred with pleasure, and occasionally muttered out some naughty encouragement. “Suck on mommy… suck mommy’s titties.”

But as enjoyable as it was, it was far from my ultimate goal. Far from the fantasies of my youth– when I used to sniff her dirty panties and masturbate, and imagine what I would do to her if I ever got the chance. Well, here was that chance! Or the closest thing that I was ever going to get to it. And I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to at least make the attempt to make some of them come true.

Still working her nipple in my mouth, I slid my hands down between us and went to work on her belt. It took a little fumbling with, my hands were so eager and excited and I wasn’t used to working a belt backwards, but I finally managed to unclasp it. Then, no longer hesitating, I followed with the button and zipper of her jeans in rapid succession.

Unlike my jeans — that had slid off my waist easily, and now had worked their way all the way down to my ankles — her jeans stayed put, held in place by her sweet curves. I fumbled at them, sliding my fingers inside the waist and trying to push them down but my efforts were rebuffed. I tried a little bit harder, trying to shrug them off, back and forth, but still the denim clung stubbornly to the enticing swell of her hips, stymieing my every move.

What the fuck?! What are these, some kind of chastity jeans? I pushed on them again, but they refused to obey my wishes. Wouldn’t slide down over her hips. And I was so close… so fucking close. Please don’t do this! Please! Things were going so well. Please God, don’t fail me now.

Despite my pleas, I failed to force her pants any lower, and now I had lost track of my oral ministrations on her breasts as well. She groaned out her disappointment and pushed my head away from her body. As I stepped back, wondering if I’d finally done it, if I’d finally blown my golden opportunity, she reached down with both hands and — with a couple wiggles of her butt — forced the offending jeans down over her hips.

Once clear of that obstacle, they easily slid the rest of the way down to puddle around her ankles. With a mischievous grin, she kicked her feet clear of them (somehow managing not to stumble in her drunkenness) and stood before me in nothing but her panties.

They were light-green silk with lace around the edges (the same as her discarded bra), and the way they tapered to two thin strands around her hips, I knew that they were a thong. Instantly, my heart ratcheted up another notch. She had always had a wide array of panties, from silk bikinis (her mainstays) to clingy boy-shorts, but there was no doubt that, above all, the thongs had been my favorites.

Snuggled up into the cleft of her ass all day, they were the most aromatic. Rife with the smell of her pussy and ass and all their various secretions. I couldn’t begin to count how many times I had strung the thin strand of one of her soiled thongs beneath my nose and sucked the stained cotton crotch into my mouth, while imaging how great it would’ve been to trade places with that thong for a day.

Even now, just the simple knowledge that a thin piece of fabric was wedged up my mother’s crack, probing at her pussy lips, hugging her tight, puckered asshole, thirstily sucking up all of her womanly scents–it was enough to make my mouth water and my head spin. Enough to start my pulse pounding, my cock throbbing, and make me willing to do anything, anything, for just one smell of their delicious dirtiness.

“See something you like?” my mother quipped, flashing me a coquettish smile.

Something I liked? Dear God, I was staring at the most amazing, incredible, wonderful thing I had ever seen in my life. The thing that I had dreamed about for years. Heaven on Earth, Nirvana, the Garden of Eden… whatever term you wanted to use for it — it was staring right back at me.

I wanted to tell her that–all of that and more. To impress upon her just what a wonderful gift she was giving me, how beautiful she was, the things I was willing to do for her. But like an idiot, my brain was too stunned to work, my mouth slack, unable to speak. All I could do was nod my head dumbly.

She didn’t seem to mind. Reaching down, she seductively traced a finger across the front of her panties, highlighting the damp spot that had formed there. “I believe there was some talk of seeing to a lady’s need?” she queried. Her finger continued to stroke the thin silk of her panties right where I figured her clit to be, making a subtle ‘come hither’ motion, beckoning me forward.

I took the two steps and fell obediently to my knees. Already, the smell of her arousal was wafting out around me, and I could see that the wet spot was continually growing, stretching up to meet her finger, the silk beneath clinging stickily to her slightly parted lips. Entranced by the sight, intoxicated by the smell, I was drawn forward like a bee to a flower. Unable and unwanting to resist.

Her hand reached out to cup the back of my head anyway, guiding it forward the last few inches, pressing me firmly up against her dampened, panty-covered mound. I inhaled deeply, loudly, almost delirious in my desire, and she responded with a soft moan of her own, her fingers tightening possessively in my hair. “Oh, you like that baby? You like the smell of mommy’s pussy?”

Like it? Like it? Oh my god, I loved it! It was even better than I’d imagined! So damp and musky, and… well, Mom!

I’d been with a handful of girls throughout my college years so far, and had buried my face in my share of pussies, and I gotta say that I’ve never come across a pussy I didn’t truly, truly enjoy. Maybe it was due to my obsession with my mother’s dirty panties, but I have always found the smell of a girl’s pussy to be completely intoxicating. There’s just something to be said about losing yourself in the wonderful, wet femininity of a beautiful pussy. Inhaling its ripe scent, licking at its welling nectar. Each one similar yet different. All with their own little nuances of taste and smell, their own little uniqueness. I loved them all.

That being said, none of them were my mother’s pussy. My mother’s pussy was like the Holy Grail of pussies. Ripe and delectable, and oh so wonderful. I drew great shuddering breaths of it deep into my nostrils. Held it in. Savored it like I would the bouquet of the finest wine, the most redolent rose. Of a peach picked at the height of perfection. It was a smell I wanted to remember and carry with me for the rest of my days.

As much as I was willing to draw it out, to appreciate it in the manner in which it deserved–no, in which it fully merited–it seemed that Mom was now starting to get a little riled up. Still holding me firmly in place, she began to sensually arch her hips up and down. Dragging those bedewed panties across my nose and mouth. Bathing me in her scent and leaving behind a moist, shiny trail of her excitement.

I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. This was better than any masturbatory fantasy. Better than anything I could have ever imagined, ever. This was reality. A blend of visual, auditory, olfactory, and tactile sensations that could never be matched, no matter how vivid the dream. How deeply-wrought the fantasy. Even my mom’s ripest, freshest panties and my kinkiest, most-audacious imaginings couldn’t begin to compare with this. Not even close.

I licked out with my tongue, letting it flit gently across that growing wet spot, adding her taste to the ever-flowing sexual stimuli that was racking my brain. Like everything about her, her taste was exquisite. A beautiful, wonderful combination of salty and sweet. I flattened my tongue and ran it slowly up and down her panty-limned lips, trying my very best to pull every single drop of her deliciousness through that thin silk and into my yearning mouth. Wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever.

She moaned her encouragement, hands still twining in my hair, pushing her mound firmly back against my lapping tongue. “Mmmmm, that’s it baby. That’s it. Lick Mommy… lick Mommy’s pussy.”

I renewed my efforts, forming my tongue into a point and driving the now-translucent fabric of her panties slowly, ever so slowly, deeper and deeper into her wet and weeping slit. Her juices flowed through and around that silk, coating my tongue and lips, filling my mouth. I swallowed it hungrily, aware that I’d likely never again taste anything so wondrous for the rest of my life, and continued to work my tongue up and down in search of more.

Her moans grew deeper, more guttural, and then turned to small gasps as I let my tongue roam further, just barely grazing the hard nub of her clit on each up-swipe before sliding back down again. Her eyes had been closed, her head thrown back, but now her gaze swiveled down to meet my own, locking on to it, boring into me with beseeching intensity. One hand pulled her sticky panties roughly aside.

“Oh fuck, yesss. Do it baby. Eat Mommy.” She arched her hips, mashing herself against my face. “Eat Mommy’s pussy.”

I stared into those eyes, those loving, imploring eyes, and did as I was told. I licked and sucked and slurped at her flowing hole like a man dying of thirst. My tongue probed her depths, traced her lips, flicked her clit and even occasionally made a jaunt farther south to ever-so-lightly tickle the edge of her rosebud. I was a man on a mission, and nothing was going to stop me from achieving my goal of having my mom cum on my face. Cum like she had never cum before.

We continued to hold gazes as I tendered my ministrations, my hands locked firmly on her ass, hers twined tightly in my hair. Our moans and groans cascaded over one another, our breathing hot and hard and heavy in the otherwise still room. A symphony of desire that echoed around us as we both sought to wordlessly convey the unbounded depths of our desire.